The Naked Rambler turned out to be an endearing and harmless man

Given that naked rambling would pretty much cover my typical day’s work (working from home is so liberating), I was on side with The Naked Rambler (BBC1) from the outset.

By which I mean I really didn’t want ex-Marine turned committed nude trekker Stephen Gough to turn out to be a total crackpot.

So was he? That was the question we tiptoed around in a film that followed Stephen and his dangly bits the length and breadth of the land, in and out of prison cells, having his photograph taken with amused/gobsmacked bystanders, sitting, naked as the day he was born, on his slightly bemused 86-year-old mother’s knee.

The question over Stephen’s mental state was key because no one, not least Stephen himself, could quite put their finger on why he had chosen to divest himself of clothes in public spaces – he puts them on when he gets indoors – and thus get repeatedly arrested.

It was a life choice that had led to the 54-year-old spending almost seven years in jail and meant he’d not seen his two children for the same length of time.

When pushed on the point, Stephen came up with a vague philosophy built around the idea that he was making a statement about personal freedom, a debate with film-maker Guy Gilbert that reached a farcical ding-dong over farts, another bodily expression that Stephen was relaxed about. ‘Stephen, is farting in public really about freedom?’ queried a clearly exasperated Gilbert.

This was where Gilbert’s film meandered slightly off track, turning into an analysis of Stephen’s past, charting his path from Marines to Moonies to nudism, an increasingly eccentric route that had drawn bafflement from his nearest and dearest.

What was more interesting was the question of whether his activities were offending public decency. And, indeed, what public decency even is.

‘A body’s a body, you shouldn’t be ashamed of who you are,’ observed one woman who encountered Stephen in naked ramble mode, an admirably sensible antidote to those who huffed and puffed and called him a disgrace.

It was clear the vast majority thought Stephen an endearing, harmless figure endowed with a refreshing self-confidence. But it only takes one complaint to get him banged up, so he’s suffered from the prudish hang-ups of the repressed minority.

Well, that’s my take on it. The postman’s at the door now, so I’d better put some pants on. You can’t be too careful.